A Series of Bad Mornings: Snape
by White As Snow
Summary: Why is Snape so nasty to everyone? Because he always has really bad mornings. Crack!Fic
1. Mondays

Snape woke up in the morning in a terrible mood. He knocked his flimsy bedstand over, which held his half-empty glass of stale water, jar of dragon blood and shrine to Lily Potter. He set his foot on the ground and immediately felt moisture seeping into his hole-toed sock. Surprised, he placed his other foot on the ground and cut his foot on the broken glass frames of Lily's pictures.

"Dragon turds!" he cursed loudly. After wasting fifteen minutes cleaning up the mess, he grumpily stormed into his bathroom and shrieked when he saw his reflection in the mirror. Little black bugs were hopping about in his hair. As he scratched his greasy locks furiously, his eyes scanned the room for any possible reason as to the insects. Snape noted that his pillow had the initials _W T _embroidered on the side.

"Wormtail!" he howled. Wormtail came scurrying from a rat hole and transformed back into his human form.

"Yes, Severus?" he squeaked.

"Wormtail, you bastard! You've given me _lice_!" spat Snape.

"Impossible. I haven't even been in your room," protested Wormtail.

"Then why is my pillow gone?" snarled Snape.

"Oh…well. It was just so _clean _and white, and I thought I'd just…_indulge_ myself," he stammered.

"Why isn't your pillow white?"

"It _was_ white," said Wormtail. Snape looked to the black pillow and wretched.

"Get out of my room, you filthy rat! And stay out of my things, or I'll have the Dark Lord castrate you! I'll castrate you myself, with a rusty paperclip!"

In a foul mood, he stormed into the Great Hall to have a minute long breakfast. Everyone else was gone to their respective classes, and he sighed. The Muggle Studies teacher had left her queer breakfast on the table, and he observed the strange food with displeasure. A still steaming brown drink in the place of pumpkin juice, and Crunchy Nut Cereal instead of his usual egg and bacon sandwich.

Frowning, he took a sip of the coffee. His eyes widened and he frantically looked for somewhere to spit the bitter liquid. Swivelling around he expelled the drink from his mouth without looking to see what was in front of him. Dumbledore's lectern was sodden and his notes had turned a nasty colour.

Gasping for breath, he tried a spoonful of the Crunchy Nut Cereal. After being left for an hour, the cereal had hardened immensely. Something went _crunch_ in his mouth, but it wasn't the cereal.

A piercing scream cracked all the windows in the Great Hall as Snape expressed his agony rather vocally. Ten minutes later, grimacing heavily and fifteen minutes late for his first class with Gryffindor and Slytherin, he left the Hospital Wing.

Upon entering the class, a deafening tumult reached his ears. A pair of students were duelling, another two playing Wizard's Chess and several playing Exploding Snap. That annoying know-it-all Granger had her head down in a book, as well as many well-behaved Slytherins. Potter and his pals were scribbling on the chalk board, which was decorated with many crude drawings of himself being hit in the head with an axe, drowning in a cauldron, being shot with an arrow in his eye, driving off a cliff in a Muggle contraption called a 'car' and a caricature of him with a huge hooked nose and grease dripping off his face in slimy waves. The caption was: _I touch myself._

His eye twitched.

The students, realising he had entered, were at their desks in an instant. The classroom was returned to normal in seconds, and the chalkboard was clean. Breathing deeply, he began the lesson. "Class, I am not in the mood for your tripe this lesson. Turn to page 294 in your textbooks and create the potion. Bring it out the front when you are finished."

They worked silently in the beginning, but the noise gradually grew louder and louder as the end of Potions was in sight and many were only three-quarters finished. In his haste to reach the front, a little Gryffindor pushed past everyone and tripped over his own feet. His potion went flying into Snape's face.

A hissing sound filled the room, and flames began to lick at Snape's clothing.

"Sorry Professor!" gasped the student. But he did not hear the apology, because at that moment, Snape was screaming his head off while the potion, which contained crushed beetle juice and a fresh onion and had just been taken off the cauldron's heat, burned him and irritated his eyes.

He left the Hospital Wing for the second time that morning as the clock struck twelve.

Snape hates Mondays.

_A/N: I'm planning for the next chapter to be Tuesday, then Wednesday, etc, through to Sunday. Review if you want more! :D_


	2. Tuesdays

_**A/N: **__The song below is __**Can You Dance Like A Hippogriff, **__which you'll probably recognize from Order of the Phoenix. :D_

----

"_Move your body like a hairy troll, learning to rock and roll. Spin around like a crazy elf, dancing by himself…_"

Snape grumbled to himself as he was roused from his sleep by a song that he faintly recognized. Angrily, he smashed his hand against the place where his alarm clock used to be. His palm met the cool, hard surface of the table. He continued slapping the table with his eyes tightly shut, hoping that he would be able to resume sleeping, until he heard a cracking sound.

Annoyed that the song had not ceased and that his table was now broken, he sat up groggily in his bed. Snape cast Lumos with his wand and searched for the source of the tune. He groaned, recognizing that the song was _Can You Dance Like a Hippogriff _by the _Weird Sisters_. He hated that song, almost as much as he hated Potter's father. But not quite that much. Still, the irritating, nonsensical verses and that loud, blearing chorus!

"_Boogie down like a unicorn, don't stop till the break of dawn. Put your hands up in the air, like an ogre, just don't care…_"

Snape grew more panicked as he realised that the chorus was soon approaching. Without thinking, he cast Reducto at anything that looked like it could contain the song.

"_Reducto!" _With a shattering sound, his wide oval mirror smashed to bits.

"_Reducto!_" The dresser blew apart, showering the carpet with his tighty-white underpants and plain black robes.

"_Reducto!_" A hole in the wall let in hundreds of cockroaches and ants from their secret nests.

None of his spells removed the music, so he tried many other charms to destroy the continuing guitar riffs. His efforts were in vain.

"_CAN YOU DANCE LIKE A HIPPOGRIFF? MA MA MA, MA MA MA, MA MA MA!"_

"_NOOOOOO!_"

A deafening roar woke up a dozen other staff members, who called out for Snape to _shut his bloody mouth!_ and they promptly went back to sleep. Meanwhile, sitting up completely awake in his bed surrounded by smashed objects and teeming vermin, Snape discovered that it was only four in the morning.

This was just the beginning of another terrible morning.

He stormed up to Dumbledore's study, to complain about the infestation of animals in the castle. There, he found Dumbledore in an intense argument with the Sorting Hat, who was on the verge of adding more risqué lyrics to his songs.

"—and I don't care _where_ your pointy hat-tip has been or what you get up to in that cupboard, I don't want you to talk about it in your song!"

"Get with the times, old man," the Hat shot back.

"_Old _man! You were sorting students before I was born!" yelled Dumbledore.

"Crotchety-wrinkled-ancient-wasted-decrepit-old-windbag!"

"That is _it_! One more word and I'll tear you a new one!"

"DRAGON TURD!"

"You're on, you poorly stitched _sack_!" With that heated remark, Dumbledore pulled out his wand and began duelling the Sorting Hat. Snape began silently backing out the door; realising Dumbledore was clearly not a morning person either.

That morning he chewed his toast aggressively, downed his juice and marched past the Gryffindor table. He was determined not to be late that morning. On his way past, Potter began humming _Can You Dance Like a Hippogriff. _Snape stiffened and came to a standstill.

"Something wrong Professor?" asked Hermione, concerned that his left eye was twitching rapidly.

Ignoring her, he shrieked, "I know it was you, Potter! I know you did it! You little monster. You're worse than your father! I should know. How dare you come into my room and set off that alarm? You arrogant toe-rag, I'll _kill_ you, I'll KILL YOU ALL—"

Snape realised that the Great Hall had gone silent. Little Colin Creevey had his camera out and was taking pictures frantically of a teacher making death threats towards a student. Harry and Ron were shaking with barely audible laughter. Composing himself, he stalked down to the dungeons, completely unaware of the black fire circling the tip of his wand.

There were fifteen minuets before class, so he locked himself in the room adjoining the classroom and drank a little calming potion. He did his breathing exercises to stop his eye from twitching. When Snape was sure that he would not suffer an emotional breakdown during the making of their _Veritaserum _potions_,_ he turned the handle of the door.

It jammed.

"Oh, come_ on_," he snarled. "OPEN!"

The door remained locked. He cast _Alohomora _but too late he remembered that he had cast an earlier spell that rendered _Alohomora _useless. Many expletives passed his lips as he punched the door furiously.

"Come on, OPEN! LET ME OUT!" he bawled to the students who were filing in.

"Sorry, Professor. I was under the impression that we weren't to enter your rooms. Sorry," laughed Harry.

"OPEN THE DOOR THIS INSTANT YOU WRETCH, OR I'LL—"

"Isn't much you can do from there, Professor," someone remarked. Everyone sniggered and began their now free period.

Snape had one last try. "LET ME OUT, LET ME OUT, LET ME OUT!"

This time, no one answered, but a familiar face materialized in his fireplace. It was the smirking, irritating face of Lucius Malfoy. And this bad morning really wasn't the right time for a chat.

"Severus, the Dark Lord would like to have a word with you about the recent death of—"

"Oh, tell him to SOD OFF! I couldn't give less of a damn about his slimy green ass!" snapped Snape. Lucius gasped, affronted, and disappeared. Around midday, when they let him out and Dumbledore granted him the remainder of the day off, Snape trudged up to his bedroom and called for a house elf to repair the hole in his wall. There was something on his mind, something he had said, but he couldn't remember.

Wormtail scurried through the door.

"Look, you worthless trash, I have absolutely no energy to confer with you," he snarled. "I have to go supervise my rotten Potions class, who're on detention."

"But Severus! The Dark Lord wants to talk to you about the message you left for him with Lucius Malfoy!" he squeaked.

Then his words came back to him.

"Oh, sh—"

This is why Snape hates Tuesdays.

_**A/N: **__Pretty random, I know. (: I love your reviews! Please send them. Hehe. _


	3. Wednesdays

As the sun rose over Hogwarts, the brilliant rays streamed through Snape's window and began to rouse him from his sleep. As he sat up in his warm sheets and stretched, a good feeling rose up inside him. This was going to be a wonderful day. He just knew it.

At least, that was what he thought before the calendar on his wall alerted him to this particular day's occasion. On the 17th it was Hagrid's birthday, and he had yet to purchase anything for him. Maybe some razors for his ridiculous beard, or a sensible tie, with a note attached: _take the hint._ The 16th was a Friday, this was 'Lily Evan's Day', and the 15th was reserved for sorting his sock drawer and potion's cupboard. But today, the 14th, was Severus' least favourite day of the year. Apart from Christmas, naturally.

Valentine's Day.

Snape pulled on his robes and placed his hand on the door handle. Nothing would ruin this morning for him, not even some silly holiday. As he made to open the door, he was startled to hear a knock. Gingerly, he prised it open and saw a frightened second year holding an envelope.

"Yes?" he snapped. The second year gulped and then pressed the card into his hand. Snape's face turned an unpleasant chartreuse colour as he scowled.

"From your Valentine, Sir," he stammered, and fled down the corridor, almost running into other messengers in his desperation to escape the Potion's teacher.

"What the devil," Snape muttered, and ripped the message open. The cover of the card was glossy neon pink, and glittering. It had a picture of one of Hagrid's creatures; a Blast Ended Skrewt in the shape of a heart, rolling around. It was either having a seizure or in the process of exploding, as those things were likely to do.

He nearly tore the card in two as he opened it. Glitter came pouring out and flew straight into his eyes.

"_DRAGON TURDS!" _he swore, as the shiny flecks began burning his eyeballs.

Many minutes later, after removing every last fleck from his eyes, though sadly not from his robes which were glimmering like a disco ball, Snape managed to read the simple message.

_Happy Valentine's Day, handsome._

_Meet me in the Owlery at 10:00. _

Nervously, he glanced over at his shrine to Lily. Her pretty face was staring at him reproachfully. "Don't look at me like that!" he protested.

She didn't blink. Her green eyes were unmoving.

"Come on, Lily! We have to start seeing new people; it's time to move on. I don't want to hold you back, and I'm sure you don't want to do the same for me. Just imagine what the Dark Lord would think if he knew we were together! I'm not your type anyway…Oh, what am I saying? _I_ _LOVE YOU LILY, FORGIVE ME_! You're the only one for me!"

Snape flung himself at the floor of the shrine, clutching his framed picture of Lily and sobbing. After a while, he calmed himself down and wiped away his tears. He replaced the picture and with a sudden ominous feeling, realised he had never closed the door. A pack of curious first years were gaping at his curled form and the flash of cameras went off. As they met his gaze, they scattered giggling and one girl screamed raucously with laughter.

Without a word, Snape retrieved his coat and slammed the door on his way out.

In the Grand Hall, word had already spread about Snape's hysterics that morning. His mood began to darken as he watched entire houses chuckle over his antics. Slytherin had clearly been attempting to contain themselves and retain a small portion of their house's head's stateliness, but Snape's entrance set them off, clutching their stomachs in mirth.

One student, however, was refusing to take part in the hilarity and was motionless. His green eyes were fixed on Snape's form, glaring blackly at the utter disrespect shown towards his late mother. For the first time, Snape was afraid.

Harry stroked the edge of a butter knife menacingly.

Sitting at the teacher's table, McGonagall came over for the first time in all her teaching career, and patted him awkwardly on the back. "There, there, Severus. I miss her too," she said, and walked away. He received similar treatment from the rest of the teachers, except the few who gave him the same glare that Harry was giving him. He tried to instead fix his eyes on the gaudy pink decorations of the Hall. Unfortunately, Lockheart's legacy had continued.

Before Snape could bite into his bacon and eggs, a sweaty dwarf skipped up to him.

"I've got a singin' telegram, sir, for a _Severus Snape_. This ain't pretty but I gotta read it, so which one of youse is _Severus Snape_?" The entire hall went totally silent, straining their ears.

"It's the sparkly one!" someone called out, drawing everyone's attention to the glitter he had not been able to remove in time. A wave of laughter swept through the hall, and did again when a Muggle-born student yelled out '_disco ball'_!

"Righto. It's you, then, eh?" said the dwarf, pulling out his harp. "'Ere we go then."

"_Your hair is greasy and black_

_You live in a grubby little shack_

_Your clothes look like stitched sacks_

_But I'd love to call you _mine.

_You have a strange repellent smell_

_Where your nose ends, I can't tell_

_You look like you've fallen down a well_

_But I'd love to call you _mine.

_My love I'm setting free_

_Keep your beady eyes only on me_

_I'll give you a kiss for free_

_Meet me at 10 at the Owlery._

_So I can call you _mine._"_

Snape twitched as the Hall burst into applause. He clenched his fists tightly as they went over the awful rhyming, with cries of 'how accurate' and 'amen', resisting the urge to slam his head on the table. That would just satisfy everyone else. He wanted to hex everyone until they revealed _who_ had sent him that disgusting singing telegram.

A familiar, comfortable feeling of paranoia swept over him as he contemplated who it could have been. Was it Potter? Or Weasley? Or even Granger! They were all out to get him…

Dumbledore kindly granted him the rest of the day off, although the final few OWL Trials were on. He was determined not to attend that meeting at the Owlery.

Sitting in his dank room, he finished penning a furious letter to Lucius Malfoy, the head of the school's Board of Directors, and marched straight to the Owlery. Snape needed that letter's reply immediately, and besides, the students had exams.

It was with a sinking feeling that he noticed chattering voices growing louder as he approached the room. The door was ajar, and the Owlery was filled to its maximum capacity as he discovered that the trial exams had finished ten minutes early. A hush fell over the crowd as they peered at Snape.

"I don't know how you all got here, and I don't know what you're expecting but I think you should all march back out that door, this instant! Or I shall give each and every one of you detention until Easter!" he shouted angrily.

"We've got permission sir. We want to meet your Valentine!" some silly girl cooed.

"Look, my Valentine is _not _going to walk in through that door, damn it! GET BACK TO CLASS!"

At the conclusion of that sentence, one figure had the misfortune to walk through the Owlery's entrance.

Argus Filch.

"What are you lot doin' in here? Out!" said the caretaker, oblivious to the fact he had just acquired a lifelong title.

'_Snape's Valentine.'_

He _was _shocked though, when the students began chanting, "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

Snape tried to stop them. "We are NOT GOING TO KISS NOW."

"Oh, right, you're going to snog _later_," someone exclaimed knowingly.

"Yes, that's right…Wait, _no_!" Snape just took in the implications of what he had just stated in front of these students. Filch blushed.

"Is there something you wanna say to me Severus?" he asked shyly. Snape did not bother answering and left the remains of his dignity mouldering on the Owlery floor. He needed to stay in his room, in _privacy_, for the remainder of the day. Or perhaps his life.

But he remembered his purpose for coming into the Owlery in the first place, and gave the letter to the first owl he saw and then ran away, in his shining robes.

Harry and Ron slapped high five, in celebration of a perfectly executed prank and for ruining Snape's morning.

This is why Snape hates Wednesdays.

_**A/N: **__I had a lot of input from my sister on this chapter, so thanks for that. Anywhoo, reviews? Should I keep spoiling Snape's morning? ;D _


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